A Christmas Story
by Rector
Summary: Further exploration of Mycroft's younger years. Written for @sherlockchallenge December 2016 prompt: Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

**Top Secret Santa**

It was Christmas of 1991. The Soviet Union was in its final death-throes with the Ukraine, Belarus and half-a-dozen other member States all signing documents of sovereignty. Gorbachev, final President of the USSR, looked to be on the verge of resignation and the ink was barely dry on the German constitutional merger. All in all, it had been an intense and hectic year. I was looking forward to a few quiet days over the holiday period, or perhaps I should say _quieter_ days, as the sphere in which my life now revolved was never really without some sort of undercurrent that kept things on the move. It was my second Christmas in Sir David Bonneville's department, three months past my twenty-third birthday, and I was finally beginning to get a feel for my job. Even though I still relied upon Sir David's knowledge and experience, I was already building my own set of contacts and had participated in a number of operations which I could never discuss beyond the walls of Bonville's elegant office. I was beginning to find my feet, or at least I thought I was.

It was almost precisely at that moment I was anticipating a few days of peace and quiet when Sir David invited me into his office to discuss, I assumed, the department's activities over the holiday season. The office never completely closed and none of us were ever entirely off-duty unless we had arranged to be in some far-off location, away from email or phone. Even then, if the matter were sufficiently urgent, there were always helicopters and private jets.

"Have a seat, Mycroft," Bonneville waved expansively at one of the chairs facing his magisterial desk. "There are some arrangements we need to discuss."

 _Arrangements_. Truly, a difficult word. It smacked of unspeakable euphemisms and danger, implying everything from covert international operations to political assassination both figurative and real. I had heard the term used too many times by various intelligence operatives to view it as anything other than deeply suspicious at best. I sat slowly, opened my ears wide and set all my cognitive faculties at their highest. I would miss nothing important in this discussion.

"Arrangements?" I smiled vaguely as I crossed my legs and linked my fingers easily together. I had become comfortable with this method of opening a discussion as it permitted me to multitask effectively. By taking a passive role, I made the speaker do all the work while I did all the observing. It was a technique that worked well for me for the most part, though Sir David, of course, knew exactly what I was doing and why. He smiled just as vaguely back, giving absolutely nothing away. My mentor could be quite unhelpful when the mood took him.

"I am taking leave," Bonneville arched his silver-grey eyebrows as his gaze held mine. "For the first time in fifteen years, I feel it incumbent upon me to depart these hallowed halls and I shall be spending a full three weeks at my nephew's castle in Scotland," he smiled mildly though I swear I detected a certain lack of relish in his statement. The novel twin notions of _nephew_ and _castle_ sat at the edge of the conversation, waiting for me to pick them up but I let them be for the moment as my brain adjusted to the greater surprise of Sir David believing I had come far enough to be left in charge of the department for a full three weeks. My immediate instinct was to reflect upon certain limitations in which I still needed support or at least guidance. However, Bonneville had not yet been wrong in his assessment of my capabilities and since he knew far more about this situation than I, I had no reason to imagine him incorrect now.

"I think that's a wonderful idea, sir," I ensured my tone was exactly on-point and that neither my expression nor anything else about me suggested I had any misgivings in the slightest. "I only wish you'd not been forced into a position where you felt unable to take a holiday before now." Narrowing his eyes a fraction, Sir David contemplated both me and the ease of my words. I doubted he'd take them at face-value, but I was damned if I'd let him think me anything but capable.

"Yesss, quite," he drawled, the faintest curve at the side of his mouth. "I'm sure you'll do very well, Mycroft," he nodded slowly, the ambiguity of his statement not lost on either of us. "I shall, of course, be available. If I am required. You need but call."

I determined immediately that nothing short of a direct nuclear ultimatum would make me call for help; at this time of year, even those countries who wanted nothing to do with Christmas were a little more relaxed about things, especially as half the world's diplomats would either be skiing at Klosters or swilling Moet in St Kitts. It would be difficult to start a war with so many peace-makers on leave. I was resolved that Sir David would have an uninterrupted and appropriately festive break. I lifted my chin slightly.

"You have everything so thoroughly under control that I fully anticipate a quiet time of things," I smiled more brightly. "Unless there's anything new about to appear?"

"Funny you should say that, my boy," Bonneville's eyes lit with faint amusement. "There _is_ a small matter I'd like you to take care of for me ..."

###

The small matter turned out to be one _Dieter Graf_ , former East German propaganda expert and now special communications liaison between the British government and what was the former German Democratic Republic. His would not be an easy job, least of all for someone who had spent the bulk of their adult life writing government-sponsored lies for his political masters. Herr Graf was several years older than I, maintained a distinctly severe expression and had a reputation for being diffident. At six-feet-three, with the build and muscle mass of an international rugby forward, he also had a certain physical presence. The man had been in London less than two weeks and now his handler had gone down with the flu. Given the end of the year mass Christmas exodus of public servants, there was, apparently, no other fluent German-speaker available to babysit our visitor with the necessary level of security clearance and Sir David, thoughtful as always, had volunteered my services. Fortunately, German was the third language I'd learned as a child, so I was confident Herr Graf and I would have no misunderstandings. Not lingual ones, at least.

Dieter Graf's file was brief. He was twenty-eight, widowed, with a young daughter. Currently improving his English, he also spoke several east European languages and had trained at the Mark-Lenin-Engels Institute in Moscow. His work had involved the production of disinformation on behalf of the Communist Party and the reinterpretation of Western events for an eastern soviet audience. Since the unification of the two Germanies, Graf found himself in the position of having to reinvent his job and he had, apparently, set to with a will. So keen was the man to improve the current situation that he had been 'noticed' and his enthusiasm tagged for advancement.

As usual, whenever Bonneville was away from the department for more than a day or two, at his request I moved myself in to his office, more as an indicator of continuity than anything else. I had no real need to occupy the more ornate surroundings, my own office being perfectly adequate, but Sir David preferred it that way. He said it made people feel better to always have someone sitting at 'the' desk. I was working my way through a sheaf of letters requiring signatures when my German guest was shown in. I could have had him wait in one of the lesser offices, but it would accomplish nothing to do so. I was down to the last three letters when Dieter Graf entered. Even without looking up from reading, I felt the man pause as the door was closed behind him. I gained a distinct impression of something very large in the room which itself was no small space. Giving him a few seconds to settle himself, I raised my eyes and smiled politely.

"Bitte, setzen sie sich," I waved my free hand at one of the visitor chairs, returning immediately to a final scan of each of the remaining few letters before adding my personal signature at the bottom. I could feel his eyes on me, no doubt wondering at my relative youth as so many did. Stacking all the signed documents together, I placed them in a shallow desk drawer Bonneville used for exactly that purpose; an assistant would collect them within the next fifteen minutes. Relaxing back into Sir David's ancient yet surprisingly comfortable leather Chesterfield, I linked my fingers and prepared to let my visitor do all the conversational heavy-lifting. He certainly had the shoulders for it. The man was massive.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Graf. Mein Name ist Mycroft Holmes," I said, pleasantly enough. "Wir werden zusammen arbeiten," I added, advising my guest that we were to be colleagues for the immediate future.

"Good morning, Herr Holmes," Graf spoke uncertain English, though his tone suggested that he wasn't sure why he was here or what on earth he was doing in my office. "I am most pleased to be here in your Capital," he paused, nodding and smiling a little. "It is very beautiful city, very like East Berlin."

Never having had the pleasure of exploring Berlin, I made a note to expand my horizons into that part of Europe as soon as time and work permitted. In the interim, I wondered what in hell's name I was going to do with our large guest for the next couple of weeks.

"Yes, London is beautiful," I matched his smile and leaned forward on Bonneville's desk. "I understand you will be taking part in several intelligence briefings over the next few weeks. Have you had an opportunity to see the sights?"

My visitor stilled, a faint frown appearing as his mind tackled the colloquialism. I felt it unnecessary to make him uncomfortable and smiled again. "Sieh die Sehenswürdigkeiten?" I offered, helpfully. Immediately understanding, the big man relaxed a fraction.

"Only a few places," he shrugged, a heavy ripple of muscle lifting his shoulders. "There has been little time." How true. There never seemed to be any time for anything other than work, these days. "But please," the big man lifted the fingers of one hand. "In English if you are so kind," he raised his eyebrows hopefully. "I am needing to speak English and so must learn much better."

"Of course," my nod was a politeness, though the sudden notion of planting Graf with a private English coach for a couple of weeks whispered beguilingly in my ear. "Are your accommodations comfortable? Is there anything I may do to make you feel more at home?" I could see Graf working his way through my questions to ensure he had grasped their full meaning. He smiled, obviously relieved that I was at least going through the motions of civilised conversation. About to shake his head, I saw him pause, thinking.

"There is one thing I have not done but I must do," Graf frowned in what seemed to be mild embarrassment. He raised his eyebrows and looked at me hopefully. "I am needing to purchase some ... geschenk?"

"Gifts?" I sat back in Bonneville's chair. "Christmas presents? _Weihnachtsgeschenke?_ " Of course, he wanted to take some presents from London to his young daughter; growing up in a bleakly Communist State would have been a dreary place for a young child. It would be no problem at all to have one of the assistants take Herr Graf along Oxford Street to John Lewis and down to Regent Street for Liberty and Hamleys. There must be any number of toy shops and places to buy things for little girls. I was in the process of reaching for the internal phone to see which member of staff fancied an impromptu shopping expedition ...

"I am told by Sir David Bonneville that you will be able to show me the great place that is called Harrods?" There was a tone in his voice that was more knowing than optimistic.

"Harrods?" I stilled my fingers on the handset. "Sir David suggested I take you to Harrods?"

"It is the best place for buying the ... Christmas presents, no?" Graf raised his eyebrows at my cautious nod. "Then I would like for us to go there, if it can be arranged. Today, if it is possible? It is important for me to get there as soon as I can."

Less than two weeks out from Christmas, Harrods and just about every other major retail outlet in London would be an utter zoo. The very thought of having to battle through the madding crowd made me wince. But if Bonneville had made the suggestion, there might be more going on than met the eye, though I had not the smallest hint that Graf was anything other than what he purported to be. I sighed internally and prepared to gird my loins in a very real sense. I loathed Christmas shopping with a passion, however, needs must. Assuming a civilised smile, I checked my watch. The place was going to be a madhouse for the next six hours, though it would quieten when people went home. Perhaps a quick visit tonight would do?

"I am expected to attend several meetings today, though Harrods will be open until late this evening. How about seven-thirty tonight?" I wondered idly why Graf sounded so determined to get there. Was he meeting someone? Was his role as a communications liaison not as innocent as it seemed? Could there be another Soviet agent waiting for him? Was _this_ the reason Sir David had foisted the man onto me? I decided to suppress my personal dislike of seasonal commercialisation and accompany Graf on his little shopping expedition.

"This will be _excellent_ ," the big man stood and offered me his hand. I could feel my knuckles grating against one another as Graf's enthusiasm took on a more physical expression. Hopefully, I would have regained full use of my fingers come this evening.

###

Having access to one of the Jaguars, it was the easiest thing in the world for Graf and myself to head out along Brompton Road to Knightsbridge and the Holy Grail of international tourists; Harrods. Dieter had asked if he might stop at his rented apartment in Alderney Street to pick up some things. I assumed he meant money and perhaps a list. Imagine my surprise when he returned to the waiting car with a small child of no more than five years old and clearly his daughter. She seemed frail, with spindly arms and legs, and eyes that were overlarge for her pinched, pale face. Helping the little girl into the middle of the back seat where she sat and watched me with huge eyes and an uncompromising stare, Dieter clambered in after.

"This my daughter, Ilse," he grinned so hard I wondered how his jaw remained hinged. "Ilse," for a large man, his voice became unexpectedly gentle as he looked down at his offspring, "This is Herr Holmes who is going to help us look for Gustav tonight. Say hello."

The child's eyes grew even wider as she scanned up my dark suit and tie, all the way to my unsmiling face. The only child with whom I'd had any real interaction had been Sherlock and I was unsure how to speak to normal children. I contented myself with lifting my eyebrows and looking curious.

"Hello," she whispered, her pale blue eyes wide and unblinking. "I am looking for a golden bear," she spoke very seriously and with much better English than her papa. _A golden bear?_ A teddy bear? Her demeanour was such that it was impossible not to be equally serious in response.

"We are going to a very large shop where there are all different kinds of bear," I assured her, only to see her frown minutely. "Ein _Kaufhaus_ ," I explained, suddenly wondering is the child had even seen a large, multi-speciality shop before coming to London. Recalling the man was a widower, Ilse's presence became clear and evidently, she knew exactly what a department store was as her small face cleared. I wondered what sort of goods the East German merchants had if she was so determined to find a golden bear in London. Apparently, Dieter read my thoughts.

"Ilse's Bär was lost in the fire that took her mother," he spoke to me softly above the child's head. "I am looking for another the same and was told that your Harrods have many _Bären_. They will have another that is most similar, nein?" It had been a great many years since I had bought toys and I had absolutely no idea what Harrods toy department might contain. I was however, fairly certain that if a _Bär_ could be obtained, we were heading to the best place to obtain it.

"It was a Steiff," Graf continued, his tone hopeful. "Anna, my wife, bought it for Ilse on her birthday, you see. It is important."

"But surely the Steiff Company in Giengen would be the best place to locate a replacement ..?" I wondered why the German believed he'd have better luck finding a toy in London than through a company based in Germany itself.

"There has been so much of people looking for Western goods since die _Deutsche Einheit_ ," the big man shrugged helplessly. "The factory at Steiff cannot make its toys enough fast," he looked resigned. "I have been tried everywhere else to find Ilse's _Lieblingsspielzeug_ , but I am not finding it before now." For some reason unknown, I felt almost sorry for Graf. To have such a responsibility thrust upon him with little or no chance of success. It must be hard for any parent to have to disappoint a child, especially when so much rested on the outcome. I hoped Harrods lived up to its maxim of _Omnia Omnibus Ubique_ ... all things for all people, everywhere. I returned my gaze to the trusting Ilse sitting quietly between us.

"We shall search very hard for your golden bear," I said. "What does he look like?"

"Gustav is this long," Ilse stretched her hands apart by about two feet. "He has round ears and blue eyes and is made of golden fur." It sounded like a standard teddy to me, though I acknowledged my inexpertise in this area. It also became clear, based upon her skin-tone, the faintly violet hint to her lips, that Ilse was ill. Most probably her heart. Since Graf had made no mention of this fact, I could only assume he had brought his daughter with him to London to ensure her continued care. He must be juggling things quite extensively to balance his new job and tend a sick child.

"Then we shall do our best to find him for you." Lifting my gaze to Dieter's face, I realised that for such a serious individual, the hopefulness in his eyes was both unexpected and palpable. There was a great deal more here than rested on the finding of a toy. Part of my mind wondered what else was going on and I made a note to make some discrete enquiries about his private situation.

The traffic had eased marginally, though at this time of the year, it was never going to be quiet in central London. We left the car and stared at the famous store adorned with bright festive displays. There was a sharp downward tug on my hand and I immediately paused. Looking down, I saw only that Graf's daughter had stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixated on the barrage of light and Christmas décor that were Harrods's famous Christmas windows. I was not wrong in assuming the child had seen nothing like it in her short life. Part of me wondered how much time she had left to see anything else.

"Carry me, Papa," Ilse lifted her thin arms and waited to be lifted high which Dieter accomplished with nary a sound; having the physique of a Greek wrestler had its advantages. Bearing his child in one arm, Graf waited for me to lead the way. With a deep inhale, I prepared to risk life and limb in Harrods mere days before Christmas.

This close to the twenty-fifth, I had assumed the place would be a zoo. I was wrong. A zoo, despite its vague imagery of mingled animals and wandering throngs of people gazing mindlessly at Wildebeest and screeching parrots, was at least semi-orderly. No matter how crowded, there was always some semblance of order and decorum, some feeling that at least, the crowds were bringing financial success to a specific venture. Harrods was not zoo-like in the least. The general mood inside the greatest emporium in London smacked far more of the Colosseum than any marketplace. It was manic. I stalled for time, standing by the exit and removing my gloves as I assessed the scene.

Despite both Graf and I being of above-average height, I could tell we would be separated and lost from each other within seconds once we entered the fray. Had it simply been he and I alone, I would have suggested leaving the place immediately and either having one of my assistants conduct the search for the toy or, if he insisted on a personal involvement, returning first thing in the morning. Turning my head, I looked from the big man's face to that of his daughter, held high up out of the heaving masses. Ilse looked so expectant that retreat was not an option. Clenching my jaw and thinking very much about Queen, Country and St George, I was about to advance towards enemy lines when a light tap on my shoulder had me looking around to see Ilse's small hand.

"In case you get lost, Herr Holmes," she smiled shyly, waiting until I reached up and clasped her warm little fingers. I chose not to look at her father; I could already feel his idiotic grin through the back of my head. I held the child's fingers as gently as I could.

A large store guide positioned close by advised that the toy department had recently moved to the fourth floor. That then, would be our objective. Taking a deep breath and holding carefully onto Ilse's hand, I led my German entourage directly towards the nearest visible lift. Looking neither right nor left, swerving around and side-stepping multiple obstacles, gangs of argumentative old ladies and a complete pantheon of lost-looking husbands, we arrived. There was an incipient queue, but at the sight of Dieter carrying his daughter, people parted like the Red Sea and we were able to catch the lift directly to the fourth floor.

If it were at all possible, I would have sworn things were a magnitude worse up here. The noise-level alone had me wishing for earplugs as the combination of classical carols and the shrieking laughter of children. The dogs of war had been let slip in Harrods and every last one of them was up here on the fourth floor. I wondered if Graf had any idea of how far beyond the pale this entire scenario was for me. Taking another deep breath and about to step once more into the melee, I felt Graf's free hand rest on my shoulder.

"This place is very occupied," he spoke quietly. "We do not have to be here this evening if you do not wish it."

The thought of simply turning around and heading back the way we had come was immediately tempting, however, a single glance at Ilse's silent intensity made me realise our undertaking could not stop at this juncture. For some utterly unknown reason, I wanted to find the little girl's teddy bear and irrationally, I was determined to do so no matter the cost. Shaking my head at Dieter's well-meant suggestion, I gripped his daughter's hand once more and began ploughing through the crowd of parents and children surging around the lift we had recently exited. Oddly, once we were a few feet away, the noise-level seemed to drop. Perhaps it was finally that time of evening when people had decided to make their way home, or perhaps the sight of my large German companion striding towards them had everyone running for cover. Whatever the reason, I found my shoulders relaxing as the crowd diminished and we made our way towards the massed ranks of brightly lit shelves on the far side of the floor. A harried young woman wearing the Harrods' name tag _Jonet Bosisto_ on her smart black suit headed towards us and stopped as she met the question in my eyes.

"Soft toys?" I enquired. "Teddy bears?" The woman's eyes flicked swiftly to Ilse's yearning expression.

"Certainly, sir," she smiled professionally and turned to lead us back the way she had just come. In seconds, we were in a different world with a ceiling of glittering lights, surrounded by every toy one might conceivably imagine. Doll's houses the size of a small shed; trampolines, swings, racing cars and stuffed animals of all species including several very realistic giraffes taller even than Dieter. Not far from where we stood, an entire _phalanx_ of teddies, large, small, dark, light ... held court. I had no clue which might be the most suitable, but apparently, Ilse had no such problem.

A female customer at a nearby sales desk was in the process of paying for a teddy, holding it up to the light as the sales assistant sorted out appropriate wrapping for the gift. The toy's rich golden fur blazed bright beneath the department's twinkling canopy.

" _Gustav!_ " Ilse hissed as she identified the purchased toy and batted hard at her father's shoulder. " _Papa,_ _the lady has_ _Gustav_." Thankful at least that Harrods had not disappointed, I smiled politely at the saleswoman still with us.

"Specifically _that_ teddy bear," I indicated the transaction at the sales desk. Ms Bosisto's rather fine hazel eyes narrowed as a light frown creased her forehead.

"I'm very sorry," she smiled apologetically, "but that was the last of that particular Steiff model we had in stock." She indicated several nearby broad shelves home to at least thirty of the things. "There are a number of other Steiff toys that might suit the young lady ..?"

" _Gustav_ ," Ilse wriggled violently until Dieter put her down on the ground, though he held her hand despite her struggle to be free of him. "The lady has taken Gustav, _Papa_ ," she almost wailed, looking up beseechingly at Graf, silently pleading with him to rescue her precious friend.

"Nein, mein Schatz," the big German kept his words gentle and soft. "It is the lady's bear now. We must look for somewhere else for your Gustav."

" _Gustav_ ," Ilse whimpered. For some reason, it was not a sound I could tolerate. Stepping over to the nearest wide shelf of bears, I glanced across at the prices and general colouring, selecting one relatively close to the bear already heading towards the lift.

"Stay here," I said to Graf, striding after the woman with the other bear clutched under my arm. I caught up with her several feet from the lift doors.

"Madam," I said, reaching into my coat for my wallet and extracting several fifty-pound notes. "By sheer chance, you have bought the very last bear that my niece has set her heart on," I lied shamelessly. "Her original toy was lost in the same fire that took her mother and she has been desperate to reclaim her little friend ever since," I added. "You would be doing me an enormous favour if you would consider exchanging the bears," I nodded down to the large package in her hands. "And do permit me to purchase you a second toy of your choosing as a token of my gratitude."

Clearly taken aback, the woman, in her late forties, well-dressed, obviously financially comfortable and middle-class, paused as I spoke. I had no reason to expect she would give me Ilse's bear, but I found I wanted the thing and was surprising myself at the lengths to which I was going in order to get it. I held up the replacement bear I had pulled from the shelf.

"This one, though similar in general size and colour, is significantly more expensive and would no doubt suit your young grandchild just as well as the one you hold," I added, not bothering to explain how I knew she was Christmas shopping for a young relative. "I would not dream of making such a request, except that my niece would be devastated if she finds she has lost her little friend yet again," I paused. "Her mother's death was quite recent and another Christmas without either of them would be cruel, don't you think?"

"Oh, my god, _yes of course_ the child must have the bear if it's so important to her," the woman sounded horrified as she turned to stare at Ilse standing next to her father. "The poor little thing. My grandson is still far too young to notice details yet," she continued, watching as Ilse pressed both hands across her mouth, turning to hide her face against Dieter's side.

Carefully murmuring my thanks, with a light hand on her elbow, I guided the woman back to the sales desk where I arranged for the replacement toy to be appropriately wrapped and after paying for it, I insisted the woman take the rest of the money to purchase a second gift. A giraffe, perhaps?

As soon as she wandered off clutching her unexpected windfall, I picked up the teddy bear of which I was now the proud owner. It was a well-made thing, with thick golden fur and two very bright eyes that stared back at me somewhat accusingly. He was a handsome chap, I decided, fluffing up a small curl just above his brow. I met Dieter Graf's gaze that was almost as wide as his child's.

"I think this belongs to you," I said, crouching down to Ilse's level and holding out the toy. "I think he was lost, so you'll need to hold onto him until he knows where he's supposed to live."

Reaching out slowly, as if she wasn't certain she could take him, Ilse's expression wobbled between tears and smiles. Settling eventually on wrenchingly sad happiness. I felt something uncomfortable in my chest and immediately stood up, inhaling hard. I had no use for this sort of sentimentality and had absolutely no clue as to why I'd allowed myself to be dragged into such a foolish situation. At least now, with the desired outcome secured, we had no reason to stay in Harrods any longer.

"Shall we go?" I looked between father and daughter, already starting to pull on my leather gloves.

"I cannot thank you enough," Dieter was staring at me as if I'd suddenly grown antlers. "I thought it was to have been too late for Ilse's Bär," his eyes looked suspiciously moist. I knew if he hugged me, I would be asphyxiated as my lungs were slowly crushed. Deciding on a strategic withdrawal, I pulled out a vague and noncommittal smile, indicating the lift.

 **"** Don't mention it," I withdrew into the safety of non-emotion, putting both hands in my pockets and stepping away. "Time though that someone was in bed?" I raised my eyebrows and flicked a look down to the child still in silent ecstasy over her returned toy.

"Ya, that is right," Graf nodded, almost to himself. "You will permit me to share a drink with you at my apartment?"

The last thing I wanted now was to have a drink with Dieter; things were already far too uncomfortable to invite yet more potential awkwardness.

"Please, Herr Holmes," Ilse's soft request had me looking down at her small form. The child barely came up to my thigh and I had no intention of spending more time with either she or her papa than I must.

"I will see you and Gustav home," I compromised. "But I cannot stay," I met Graf's eyes again and he shrugged in an almost Gallic way.

The drive home in the Jaguar was peaceful and quiet, with Ilse holding tight onto her new teddy bear and Graf holding on tight to his daughter. Their flat was in Bayswater, taking only minutes to reach after cutting through Hyde Park. It was a nice enough place, though somewhat sterile for a small child I would have thought. The front door light was on and I waited as Graf and Ilse opened their front door and entered.

"I'll see you in the morning," I smiled my vague smile again, already feeling the urge to back away. Ilse darted inside.

"Good night then, Herr Holmes," Dieter held out his hand. "You have my eternal thanks for ..." He got no further as Ilse rushed back out, her face creased with fear and upset.

"Papa, something _awful_ has happened inside," she cried, tugging on the bottom of his jacket.

Both Graf and I entered the flat where it was immediately obvious that someone had very thoroughly turned over the entire apartment. Furniture was tipped over; books and cushions lay everywhere, pictures smashed and discarded.

Someone had been looking for something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Given the unnecessary damage, this did not appear to be a professional job unless, of course, the excessiveness itself was a deliberate message for Graf. Even as I pulled out my phone to summon appropriate assistance, I absorbed the finer evidence of the scene and strode through the modest flat to ensure the perpetrators were no longer there. Had I found anyone, I would have given them to Dieter to play with, though the odds against any transgressors still being present were high. Clearly, whoever had done this had waited for both the Grafs and Ilse's babysitter to leave the apartment, which meant the building was under observation and was probably still being watched even as I stalked from room to room. Listening to Ilse being comforted by her father, I wanted to be furious but that was an unaffordable luxury. Instead, I allowed the cold clarity of analysis to settle over me, much better for thinking than hot rage. Bad enough that this needless act of mayhem took place on my watch, but that one of the targets was a child gave me a sour feeling. Returning to the front hall of the apartment, I'd seen everything I needed to see and had decided on the next step.

"Can you pack up your personal affects and be ready to leave in five minutes?" I asked Dieter, my eyes observing the child's tension as she huddled in his arms. "Obviously, you cannot stay here and I don't want you to have to deal with any more unwelcome guests."

"But where are we to be going?" I could see that Graf was still shocked. Despite his size and strength, the German was a writer, not a fighter. "Ein Hotel?"

A hotel, a nice one, would definitely be easier for all of us; however, short of placing twenty-four-hour security on both father and daughter, it wouldn't make much sense. Nor did I much fancy putting an ill child into any of the safe houses currently available; they were utilitarian to say the least. I wanted my guests to be somewhere safe, secure and comfortable. Somewhere with solid security yet with a less dismal ambiance than one of Her Majesty's prisons. This left me with only one clear alternative: Forty-two Pall Mall. My apartment was large enough and secure enough. It was also the only place I could think of where they'd be totally safe from any future unpleasantries.

"Pack your bags," I said. "Leave the rest to me," I smiled at Ilse in her father's arms. "And don't forget Gustav."

My people arrived just as Dieter dropped two suitcases at the door. Backup had not been as swift as I would have liked, but given the chaos of Christmas traffic, one had to be realistic. I had already given my team directions on the phone during my initial call and little more needed to be said. With practised professionalism, the small group of men and women swept into action, photographing and documenting everything, even as they began putting the flat back to rights. The Grafs' suitcases were taken down to the Jaguar. Fortunately, none of their clothes or personal possessions appeared to have been damaged, though Dieter's wardrobe had been thoroughly rifled. If the search had involved the man's clothing, then whatever was being sought was small or easily hidden. I wondered what it was. Given Graf's previous work, the options seemed limited.

"Where are we going, Herr Holmes?" It was the first thing I'd heard Ilse say since I'd prowled around the flat ready to wreak havoc on any remaining malefactor. I looked down in the dimness of the car and saw her pale little face staring up at me. The urge to promise her everything was going to be all right tugged at me.

"You and your papa are coming to stay with me for a little while," I lifted my eyebrows as her eyes widened. "I have an apartment on the top floor of my building and you can see all sorts of Christmas lights from there. Would you like to see them?"

"Can Gustav see them too?"

The earlier tightness in my chest threatened to return and I quashed it roughly. Now was not the time for anything less than cool-headedness. I stared across to Graf's unreadable expression. I hadn't told him of my plan before we left his ransacked flat so that he could not possibly leave any form of message for anyone who might be looking; I had not completely dismissed the notion that Dieter Graf might not be quite what he claimed.

"I think Gustav would enjoy the lights," my voice sounded softer than usual which immediately annoyed me. "You will both be very safe, I promise." Apparently, my need to affirm the child's safety overrode my own desire for professional detachment. I looked away.

"It is too much of us to stay with you in your home, Herr Holmes," Dieter finally threw off his shock-induced despond. "We are to be OK in a hotel, I am sure."

"And I am sure you will be even safer in my apartment," I met his eyes again in the dim light. "I am not prepared to take any risks," I added, dropping my gaze down to the top of Ilse's head and back. Graf got the message and shut up, holding his daughter close to his side, a look of deep thought on his face.

Pall Mall was only ten minutes away and the Jaguar pulled into the kerb with hardly a swerve. Not wanting to be out in the open any longer than necessary, I stepped onto the kerb, advising my driver he would probably not be needed further, but to remain alert until midnight just in case. Popping the boot, the Grafs' belongings were on the street even as I was about to open the main door of the building. Dieter had his hands full with the cases, which left Ilse standing on the cold pavement. My chest tightened again and I glanced at Graf, seeking his permission. Looking between his daughter, and me he nodded once as he shouldered the luggage. I held out my arms and looked down.

"I think this will be easier if I carry you," I said, holding out my hands, uncertain how to tell the child we needed to be quick. "Would you allow me to ..?"

Ilse simply opened her arms and it was the easiest thing in the world for me to bend down and gather her up, her small form resting naturally against my side as her hands clung to my coat. There was very little weight and I revisited the knowledge that the child was ill. If anything, I grew even more angry but it was getting cold outside and there was no time for any personal fit of temper. I held Ilse tight and kept silent.

Ronald Thomas, ex-boxer, ex-policeman, ex-security guard was on concierge shift tonight. It wasn't that the building's residents required much in the way of concierge assistance, as it was that I, according to Bonneville, needed someone trustworthy and secure at my front door. All the part-time staff who formed the building's twenty-four-hour security team had been thoroughly vetted and checked on Sir David's directions and a goodly part of their salary came from our department. There were five men in the squad, of whom Ronnie was one and one woman, Heather James, who'd been both a sharpshooter and a K9 handler. Heather usually brought Magnus, her current retired police dog, in on her shift; they made a formidable team. Tonight, however, it was Ronnie who took in the unexpected scene of me holding a small child in my arms as a very large man followed behind carrying two suitcases.

"Evenin', Mr Holmes," Ronnie stood, taking everything in. "Be needing any assistance with anything?"

"Thank you, Ronnie," I stabbed at the '4' button on the lift panel with my free hand. "I think we'll be fine tonight. Mr Graf and his daughter are going to be staying with me for a little while, so please let everyone know, if you would."

"Consider it done, Mr Holmes," Ronnie was also a father of three and his expression was eloquent. "Got everything you need for the little girl?" I had absolutely no idea what might be needed for a little girl, but I was almost too cross to speak civilly at this point.

"I'll let you know," I nodded at him as the lift doors closed and we ascended swiftly to my bachelor apartment where I unlocked the front door and welcomed two unexpected guests into my humble abode.

Of course, I had not planned on having visitors at all this Christmas. My parents had insisted on turning up last year, if only to check that I was, in fact, the owner of a central London flat. Last year, I had still been in the process of getting settled in, still finding pieces of furniture and pots and pans. Of course, I'd had some initial help with this from a very lovely North Korean spy but there had still been any number of things which, as my mother had smugly pointed out, needed 'a woman's touch'. My flat lacked frills and I was perfectly happy with this state of affairs. But Ronnie had been correct to ask if I had everything I needed for a small child because obviously I hadn't, though it was too late to worry now. If anything special was missing, I'd have one of my assistants worry about the details. It wasn't until I had the front door closed and locked behind the three of us that I felt an enormous pressure lift from me and I felt able to exhale.

Still carrying the child, I walked a little way down the open-plan hallway, opening the first door on my right. This was the guest bedroom that, thankfully, I'd had the foresight to decorate to a decent level for my parents' visit last year. While the view from this room was less than stellar, peering over rooftops towards the regimented windows of the Army and Navy Club, it was at least comfortable. I'd bought an extra-long king sized bed specifically to accommodate my father's height which was fortunate for Dieter Graf who would otherwise have had to sleep diagonally. There was no space in the room for a second bed, though I'd installed a dressing table and a small boudoir settee for my mother, which was certainly soft enough for Ilse to sleep on. The main bathroom was right next door, so they could have as much privacy as they wanted. The master suite and my office were at the front of the flat, overlooking Pall Mall itself, and I needed little else. This was fortunate, as I planned to work from my office here until I knew precisely what had happened and could be certain it would not happen again. Sliding open one of the wide doors of the built-in wardrobe, I showed Dieter where the bed linens and duvets were kept. Dropping his cases, he nodded, already unbuttoning his coat.

"Would you like a scotch?" I asked him, watching as Ilse walked to the sofa and sat daintily, pulling open her own coat. "And would you like something to eat or some hot milk?" I bent down awkwardly to her level, wondering what she ate and if she was even allowed to drink milk. I wasn't sure what I had in the cupboards; the company Bonneville insisted I use for my domestic arrangements not only took care of my cleaning but also did my grocery shopping and general laundry. This was fortunate; otherwise, I'd probably have nothing in the refrigerator at all. I was sure there'd be fresh milk at least, though I wasn't certain what other stores I might have.

"Cocoa, please, but I'm not hungry, thank you." Ilse looked up at me expectantly. Did I have cocoa? Thankfully, my flat was warm and I peeled off my heavy coat and scarf enroute to the kitchen as I started opening various cupboard doors in search of the small round tin I vaguely recalled from several months before. _Success_. Starting up my coffee machine for Dieter and I, I heated some milk in the microwave for Ilse. Following the instructions on the tin, I ended up several minutes later with an apparently acceptable result and poured it into an elegant Russian tea-glass my mother had bought. The coffee was also ready and I brought everything across to the living area where I also splashed out two very good measures of single malt.

Soft footsteps on the polished wooden floor was something of a relief as Ilse and Gustav skipped over, apparently none the worse for wear. The resilience of the very young was to be envied. I had no idea where she might want to sit, but Ilse took matters into her own hands, throwing a large cushion on the floor next to the coffee table and dropping onto it as she waited for me to serve her evening beverage.

"Nein, Ilse," Graf's tone as he walked into the living room was mildly admonishing. "It is not polite to be sitting on the floor in someone's house." About to apologise for his offspring's casual treatment of my property, I simply handed him a glass of scotch and shook my head at his concern. Ilse could do as she pleased as far as I was concerned.

"There is very little damage she can do here," I clinked my glass to his and pushed a cup of coffee across to him as I took one of the two leather settees that framed the low, square table. "Relax, you are safe here."

" _Prost_ ," Dieter perched on the edge of the facing couch, listening Ilse admiring the ornate silver holder and explaining to Gustav that the glass really belonged to a princess. Seeing that Ilse would be absorbed in looking around her new surroundings for a while, I felt able to begin the inevitable conversation with her father.

"Any idea what they were looking for?" I spoke casually but I saw Dieter's shoulders tense. Taking a sip of his coffee, he shook his head slowly.

"I have trying to be working out what anyone would think to find in our things," he paused and shook his head again. "I have no money, no documents of confidentiality, no special knowledge," he looked up at me and shrugged. "I have no clue why anyone would try and rob us."

Did Graf seriously think he'd been the target of a simple break-in?

"It wasn't a robbery," I tapped a thoughtful fingertip on my glass. "It was a search, and either it was a very poor search or a very good one."

"I do not understand," Dieter frowned. "Explain, please."

"If the damage in your flat was unintentional, then it was a poor search," I sipped the Ardbeg, leaving the rest of the equation to penetrate Graf's awareness. It didn't take long; his chin lifted slowly until he was staring me in the eye.

"You think it was done to tell me something?" he frowned. "But what? And _why?_ And why to _me?_ " He certainly sounded innocent, though I had already met many excellent liars in the course of my job.

"If it was a message," I mused. "Then it was to remind you about something you have or something you know," I paused, idly swirling the amber liquid in the lead crystal. "What do you know, Herr Graf?"

"Papa knows how to tie my shoelaces and how to make me porridge for breakfast," Ilse chipped in as she pushed her near-empty glass aside. She yawned widely. "He sings me songs at bedtime."

"Do you need extra bedding to make up a small bed on the sofa?" I looked at the big man who suddenly seemed as weary as his little girl.

"Nein, danke," he blinked tiredly. "The bed is very big enough for Ilse to sleep on one side; she will feel safer there, I think." And Dieter Graf would feel better with his child safe beside him, I could see. I nodded.

"I'll make something to eat while you put her to bed." I stood and walked to the 'fridge knowing there would be something cold I could heat up. Thanks to Bonneville's directions, edible things appeared each day and tonight it seemed to be lasagne. It was only later, after Dieter and I had eaten a slab of the stuff and after I'd spoken again to the head of the clear-up team, that we had another chance to sit with a drink. Graf opted for vodka as our conversation was renewed. I had turned off all but a few lamps; people talk easier in the dark and my mind was coming up with all sorts of questions.

"What did your wife do before she died?" I asked, watching my scotch sparkle lazily in the dimmed lights.

"Anna?" Graf sounded surprised. "Anna had been a sports coach," he said. "For a women's ice-hockey team," he smiled slightly. "She was sehr gut at the job," he nodded at his memory.

"Did she travel a lot in her work?"

"Oh, ya," Dieter nodded again. "All the time, all the places. She would always bring Ilse a present back from where she had been."

"Is that where she found the original Gustav?" I sipped my scotch and thought interesting thoughts.

"Ya. Anna and the team had been in Leipzig," he grinned suddenly and leaned forward. "There was a proper black market in Leipzig and Anna found Gustav for Ilse's birthday. It was a good time," he toyed with his drink as other memories crowded in.

"How did the fire start?" I asked gently. An idea had taken shape in my head but I needed more information before I could act on it. I had to know. I watched the big man shrink a little into himself as he recalled details he'd rather not. I held my silence and knew I was a bastard.

"Nobody was able to be telling me," he frowned down at the glass in his hand. "I was late at work and Anna was with Ilse at the hospital. When they got home, the apartment was on fire and my wife went in to save some family things," he shrugged dolefully. "She did not come out."

I let the silence ride for a few moments. After all, whatever else his Anna was, she had been the man's wife.

"Was anything recovered from the fire?" I asked, holding the bottle of Absolut out to him. He poured himself a generous measure and I was momentarily reluctant to press for more information. The feeling passed quickly.

"Not many things were found," he sighed wearily. "Some plates and some ..." he paused, hunting for the word. "Backpfannen?" Porcelain and baking pans, both typical survivors of a domestic fire. Not what I wanted to hear, though.

"There was nothing else? Nothing small or precious? No jewellery or ornaments? _Schmuck oder Ornamente?_ "

Lifting his gaze to the left, I could almost watch the cogs turning in his memories. I disliked doing this to him. He was a pleasant enough man, and more importantly as I now knew, an honest one. I waited.

"There were some small things," Graf swigged back the clear spirit in a single gulp. "A few pieces of Ilse's books that did not burn so completely. Some old candlesticks that were on the floor, small things of no consequence," he stopped sadly, as grief reinstated itself. I saw I would get nothing more of use from him tonight.

"My people are looking for whoever broke into your apartment," I said, changing the subject. "We may have some answers in the morning. In the meantime, is there anything you or Ilse need?"

"I have a medical Rezept for Ilse's medicine that I must take to a ... an ... Apotheke?" he paused and looked at me for a response. The nearest chemist's was at Charring Cross but it would be easier to have one of my people pick up the drugs.

"I'll have it collected for you," I said. "You and your daughter will be staying here until I am confident of your safety."

"But my work ..?"

"You can still do your work," I replied. "I can have all your materials delivered here in the morning."

Graf looked at me assessingly. "You are important man, eh?"

"I work for an important man," I answered easily. "He told me to look after you and I am."

Dieter got to his feet and stretched. My flat has high ceilings but he made them look almost average. I decided to add more alcohol to the list of things I wanted delivered.

"Then, _Gute Nacht_ , Herr Holmes," he nodded. "And thank you for your welcome hospitality," he picked up his empty glass from the coffee table and headed towards the kitchen with it. "Is good, but Leipzig Wodka is better, I think." He grinned over his shoulder and headed to the guest room, leaving me alone with my thoughts in the dim light.

###

The next day, it became clear that despite the disorder in the Graf's apartment, whoever made it was careful enough not to leave any trace of themselves; no fingerprints, no physical evidence and no DNA evidence either. This confirmed the non-opportunist nature of the break-in; it was a professional job, done by people who knew precisely what they were doing. This _further_ substantiated my suspicions that whatever they had been looking for, it had not yet been located. Dieter and Ilse were not safe beyond my flat, so there they would stay for the time being. Fortunately, I had long ago had my own office set up, a duplicate of the Whitehall version, and given the increasing level of technological support, I could work as well here as anywhere else.

Ronnie Thomas had thoughtfully dropped off a box of old toys for Ilse who spent most of the day investigating everything with a determination that would rival my brother for its thoroughness. I'd had Dieter's reading materials brought over which gave him plenty to do, as well as requesting Ilse's prescription be picked up.

"There's a problem with the little girl's medication, Mr Holmes," I heard the words emanating from my phone but wasn't sure why I was hearing them.

"Because?"

"None of the chemists will fill a German prescription in case they get it wrong. It needs to be a UK prescription, signed off by a UK doctor, they say."

I sighed. "And?"

"And no British doctor will sign-off on this type of medication unless they first examine the patient," the man had clearly tried. Not that it helped much.

"Then get a doctor," I suggested.

"Yes, sir. Shall I bring them around to your Pall Mall address?"

I could almost hear my eyes rolling. "Yes, do that." I ended the call. Locking my office door, I went to advise Dieter that Ilse would need to be checked over by one of our own medicos before her medication could be obtained. It was a formality, but British laws were strict about such things and a doctor was on the way. On the return leg to my office, I stopped to watch Ilse who had all the toys lined up on one of the long settees; several dolls, a somewhat weary-looking elephant, a one-eared Panda and, of course, Gustav. There seemed to be quite a serious conversation going on though I couldn't make out exactly what was being discussed; undoubtedly something of international import.

"She has been most happy in your country," Graf had put down his papers and was watching me watch his child. "There is so much more here for her than in Berlin."

"Then stay," I turned on my heel, not realising what I was going to say until the words had already left my mouth. "Stay and live here in London," I said. "I'm fairly certain I could expedite permanent residency for you both." I turned back to watching a happy, quiet little girl playing with her dolls. It felt wrong to send her back to a country where all she had was bad memories and a limited future. "The medical services are very good over here," I added, meeting Dieter's gaze. We had not spoken about his daughter's poor health but it was an elephant in the room.

The internal phone rang to advise me that one Doctor Parker was waiting at the reception desk downstairs. I said to send him up and went to open the door. In seconds, the lift _dinged_ , opening to reveal a conservatively-dressed woman of early middle age with hair already silvering despite her lack of years.

"Doctor Alex Parker, Mr Holmes," the woman extended her hand. "I was told you needed an urgent patient evaluation and prescription?"

"Indeed," I shook her hand and brought her into the flat. "Miss Graf is a German visitor who needs new medication but none of the chemists will accept a German script. If you'd be so kind ..?" I ushered her into the living room where Ilse was still chatting away with her new friends. I turned to Dieter to see if he had anything to say, but he shook his head, though his expression was vigilant.

"Ilse, Liebling, come let the lady doctor see you," he called, his eyes already scanning back to the papers in his lap. I decided to make some tea; the kitchen was a most useful place to hear everything in the flat while remaining conveniently out of sight.

"Hello, Ilse? My name is Doctor Parker. Can you understand what I'm saying?" the woman set her big black bag on the opposite settee and sat, waiting until her new patient turned and looked.

"I am making friends with my new toys," Ilse turned to sit one of the dolls up straighter. "I usually only have Gustav, so it will take some time, I think."

"And who is Gustav?" swiftly scanning the child's face, Doctor Parker opened her bag and began pulling out a number of items including a stethoscope and blood-pressure cuff. "Would you like to listen to his heart?" she held out an irresistible stethoscope. Showing Ilse how to listen to her own heart first, Doctor Parker was already well into the examination before anyone realised. I don't think Ilse ever did, so enchanted was she with all the real medical toys. Inside of twenty minutes, the deed was done. Parker packed her things carefully back into her medical bag and said her farewells to Ilse and the toys. Standing, she walked over to my side. I handed her the world's slowest-made cup of tea as she looked between me and Graf who had put his papers to one side for the moment.

"The child is very ill," Alex Parker spoke quietly though she pulled no punches. "She has significant issues with a congestive heart condition and needs some fairly intensive treatment," she paused and looked between us, her gaze resting eventually on Graf's face. "She should be in hospital for a thorough review."

Dieter looked stoic. "Our own _Ä_ _rzte_ have done everything they can," he frowned down at the floor. "There is nothing more that is to be of help, I have also been told this."

"There are a number of new drugs we can try," clearly Parker was not one to give up at the first hurdle. "I could start your daughter on a regime of the latest ACE inhibitors which may alleviate a number of her problems," she looked from me to Dieter and back, as if seeing which one of us was most likely to agree. "It's hard to see anyone suffer unnecessarily, especially a child." I watched thoughts cross Graf's face as he tussled with this new information. I couldn't comprehend his indecision. If Ilse could be helped with new drugs, how could he possibly hesitate? Forcing myself to remain silent was not the easiest thing I ever did; I've never really understood how people manage to miss the blindingly obvious. Perhaps a night's sleep on the matter would help.

"In the meantime, is she able to continue with her existing prescription?" I asked, realising it would be unproductive to force the issue

"Yes, of course," Doctor Parker nodded. "It's a form of Furosemide and commonly used in these cases. I've already written a prescription for you, but Mr Graf, I _strongly_ recommend you consider my suggestion; these state-of-the-art drugs can be very effective." The doctor looked Dieter squarely in the eye as if daring him to disagree with her. Murmuring my thanks, I escorted her out of the flat all the way down to the Concierge desk where I asked that the new script be filled as quickly as possible. Exhaling loudly in the returning lift, I realised I now had three separate responsibilities on my hands; Graf's work, the safety of he and his daughter, and Ilse's ongoing wellbeing. Of the three, I couldn't say which was the more problematic.

My flat was quiet as I let myself back in. The door to the guest room was closed and so I returned to my office and the work I'd left earlier. I'd asked for and received the police report about the fire that killed Anna Graf, and the resultant facsimile awaited my attention. In addition to the police report, I'd also asked for any photographs of the burned apartment and studied them first. The fire, as most fires do, had moved upwards, with the greatest damage at the ceiling level and the least, on the floor itself. All manner of small things in addition to candlesticks might have survived if they had been protected by falling plaster and masonry. A vague thought of black-market economics and the kind of things one might purchase through such an economy sat in my head. Anna Graf had travelled a lot and brought various things home, things that she wasn't able to find in East Berlin, things that had come from _other places_. Something she'd brought home had survived the fire and her desire to find it had almost certainly been the cause of her own death. I was convinced that Ilse's mother had been a spy. But for whom? And what had she been attempting to save from the fire?

###

The following morning I stared out of my bedroom window at dawn and was briefly puzzled at the curious colour of the sky. It took me a second to realise it was snowing and the air was thick with falling flakes. I wondered how Ilse felt about snow and if she had warm enough clothes. I needn't have been concerned as she turned up for breakfast dressed in a white woollen jumper and thick dungarees with small red boots. I saw Gustav now sported a matching white ribbon. I had no idea what to offer either of them for breakfast and made a very early call to an assistant who had departed my flat less than fifteen minutes before Ilse asked to be lifted onto one of the high stools at the breakfast bar. Fortunately, I was fully competent at turning an oven on and off and had been keeping everything hot. The kitchen was redolent with appetising smells and I smiled smugly as I took hot plates my assistant had put in the oven to warm.

Dieter arrived, freshly shaven though he looked tired. He had probably not slept well last night; too many important questions to be considered. Breakfast was a surprisingly leisurely affair, with both Graf and I making sure Ilse had everything she wanted to eat or drink, though even I could see her appetite was small. I felt an irrational anger flicker inside me again and wondered what I had to do to see it gone.

I'd arranged for Ilse's babysitter to come to my flat later while Dieter and I worked on our respective tasks. After completing her meagre breakfast, Ilse ran to the long windows to see the falling snow.

"Papa! Please can we go and see the snow?"

Graft smiled, but shook his head. "Nein, Ilse. It is too cold for you to be outside today. Stay in here with your toys and be warm."

"But _please?_ Just for a little? I promise to come right back inside when you tell me. _Pleeeaase_ , Papa?"

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Graf stood and reached for his coat. I was hardly able to deny the child a few moments in the snow, but neither could I allow them from my sight. Reluctantly, I collected my own overcoat from the hall cupboard. It was bitingly cold outside but it was still quite early and, while there were a number of people abroad, the morning rush hour had not fully commenced. I looked around and then looked down as a series of happy giggles suggested Ilse was enjoying kicking the barely piled snow into small drifts. I heard increased car traffic up and down the road telling me that the quiet was already over and was about to usher my charges back inside. The noise of a high-revving car engine caught my attention as a nondescript vehicle drew closer, itself fairly blanketed in obscuring snow. It was only when I saw the windows rolling down that I realised what was happening.

" _Down!_ " I yelled. " _Everybody down!_ " From the corner of my eye, I saw Dieter reach for his child, even as a burst of bullets raked the front of the building, the sound of ricocheting steel drumming like hail as we crouched beside a parked car. Ronnie Thomas rushed out with a gun suddenly in his hand, but by then the car had already careered off down the street. With luck, I'd have the details on CCTV within twenty minutes.

"Back inside _now_ ," I directed, about to tear a strip off my supposed security, when I realised Graf was not moving but held still on his knees. "Dieter?" I felt an ominous chill inside which had nothing to do with the snow. The big man turned slowly, his face ashen and panicked. He held Ilse in his arms, a small blossom of red on the chest of her white jumper.

"She is shot," he whispered harshly. " _Meine Ilse ist_ _erschossen_."

At this time of the morning, an air-ambulance was imperative. I made the call.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Peak morning traffic in London is not quite impenetrable but fresh snow complicates an already complex situation. With the best will in the world, no wheeled-vehicle was going to be able to reach Ilse inside of ten or fifteen minutes. Needing instant action without debate, I called the Home Secretary's Office direct. Citing my own personal emergency code, something I'd never used before today, I conveyed the critical nature of the crisis and demanded a helicopter. I also asked for Pall Mall to be closed long enough for the helicopter to land and leave. Gaining agreement, I ended the call and there was nothing more I could do now but wait.

Dieter brought Ilse inside and laid her flat on one of the two visitors' sofas. She was conscious but pale and silent, which worried me more than if she'd been screaming with pain and shock. Ronnie had pulled a big medical box out from under his desk and was already searching out wads of sterilised cotton to help staunch the flow of blood, which, I noted, was not excessive. With luck, Ilse had caught a ricochet rather than a direct hit. Though still grim, it mightn't be life-threatening. Between Dieter and Ronnie Thomas, there was nothing I could physically do to help and the irrational anger that had dogged me for the last couple of days rose again like vomit. I stalked outside into the frigid air to clear my thoughts just as I heard police-sirens and screeching tyres on the street.

Not more than a hundred yards either side of me, marked police cars, sirens blaring and all lights flashing, squealed to an oblique halt, each one neatly blocking the flow of traffic in either direction. A couple of cars caught in the middle were hastily ushered around the impromptu blockade, just as the sound of a helicopter made itself known. Looking up, I watched the bright red air-ambulance lower itself carefully until it sat in the very centre of Pall Mall. Even before it had properly touched down, two paramedics launched themselves out of sliding doors, unclipping a lightweight aluminium stretcher and running swiftly towards me. I held the door open wide and they were inside and attending Ilse, lifting her onto the stretcher and strapping her down, inside the first minute. Returning through the open door, I pushed Graf towards the helicopter.

"It's going to be fine," I promised him. "Go. I'll take care of everything."

For a big man, Dieter moved quickly and less than two-minutes after touching down, the chopper was once more airborne, heading for the children's emergency ward at St Thomas's hospital in Lambeth. Re-entering my building, I looked around. Ronnie had started to clear things away and other than some muddy wet footprints on the otherwise pristine floor tiles, one would never have guessed anything unusual had taken place. My car was also on its way, delayed no doubt by the backlog of obstructed traffic. Part of me wanted to go to the hospital to make sure Ilse got whatever she needed without argument. I realised this was a foolish desire and returned to my flat to change before heading into Whitehall. That I directed a departmental aide to be with the German visitors at all time was simply good sense. The man had little English and would obviously need the help.

In the meantime, I was determined to uncover the mystery behind both the ransack of the Grafs' accommodations and today's attack on Dieter; there had been no indication that I was presently the target of such terminal violence and Ilse was on the young side for espionage, which left only her father as the objective. Clearly he _had_ something or _knew_ something his attackers wanted. If it was information, then it must have been transcribed into a form of media: written, taped, photographed or otherwise recorded, or there would have been no need for a physical search of the flat. Nor would there have been an attempt on his life if his unknown assailants believed he retained the knowledge only in his memory; it hardly made sense to kill the man before they got what they wanted. If the search had been for some _thing_ , then it must have been an item Dieter had brought with him from Germany or had picked up since arriving in Britain. This alternative made the most sense, though again, I wondered why his death would be considered necessary. Possibly, the people who searched his apartment wanted to ensure that Dieter would never work out what it was that he _had_. Perhaps it was deemed safer that he never find it, whatever 'it' was ... there were too many alternatives and I needed more data before I could reach any serious conclusion. I rang St Thomas's to enquire after Ilse. If she had been seriously injured, I was going to gut those responsible with my own hands.

The good news was that the injury was a flesh wound and had barely scraped her skin, though she had obviously been frightened and shocked. The less welcome report was that the child's cardiovascular system was showing increased signs of stress and they had put Ilse on a ventilator to push additional oxygen into her blood. The image of such a little girl intubated and helpless made my jaw tense and I promised ... what? Retribution? Revenge? I hardly knew myself. Dieter was going to stay at the hospital and, as all their belongings were in the spare room at my flat, it was the perfect opportunity to do what was necessary. I would pack a bag for them both and conduct a search of their things at the same time. In the interim, I ensured the Graf's hospital room was well-guarded; there was no point inviting trouble.

The Grafs' clothing was neatly hung up or folded away in drawers. Dieter had one suit, a sports jacket, several indeterminate pairs of trousers, two jumpers and two pairs of shoes. There were half-a-dozen clean shirts folded away, next to some basic underwear. I carefully checked every pocket, every hem, every fold. Nothing. No wires, no secret pockets, nothing stitched to any of the labels. I performed an identical examination of Ilse's things, but it was the same story. I found nothing that might be remotely out of place. The same could be said in the bathroom of Dieter's shaving kit and toiletries and Ilse's small plastic bag in the shape of a sunflower containing several clear plastic vials of medications and a pig-shaped toothbrush. There were no hollow heels in any of the shoes and nothing appeared to be secreted anywhere in the room although I acknowledged that if something very tiny had been hidden extremely well, I might have missed it. But I didn't think so. Dieter's expression when we discussed the vandalising of his flat had been one of utter innocence and I simply didn't believe he was sufficiently accomplished as a liar to fool me so completely. I sat on the bottom of the bed and folded my arms in thought. I was convinced there must be something else and I simply wasn't thinking properly.

 _Wait_.

Ilse had put a white ribbon around Gustav's neck, the same kind of ribbon I'd seen in her own hair a couple of times, though I hadn't seen any ribbons or hair fasteners in my search. This meant they had to be somewhere else in the flat and I'd not found them. They weren't in the bedroom or the bathroom. As I walked into the main living area, my gaze was drawn immediately to the little row of toys Ilse had seated against the back of one of the settees. Kneeling down, I picked each one up, checking to see if Ilse had recently added to their costume but again, nothing. I sat back on my heels, almost ready to give up, when I caught a flash of yellow pushed back between the upper and lower settee cushions. Whatever it was had been tucked in well and it took me several long seconds pulling it out. About the size of my palm, it was a smaller version of the plastic bag in the bathroom, with the same bright yellow sunflower pattern. Unzipping the top, I tipped the contents out onto the coffee table.

Ilse's ribbons were there, as well as an assortment of little-girl things; a pink plastic ring; a cheap necklace of blue glass beads; a tiny pot that declared itself to be lip-gloss. There were also a handful of long hairgrips, several ornate stamps and a number of loose pebbles and shells. I checked everything meticulously. _Nothing_. I found absolutely nothing of any value or importance and I wracked my brain to understand what else either of the Grafs might possess that would be of sufficient interest to merit the events of the last few days. The tip of my finger poked aimlessly among the small heap of shells, turning them over and watching them glitter. I stopped abruptly. There was something, a very small flash of silver, rolling around with the shells. I moved the pebbles aside, hunting for whatever it was my eyes had seen which my brain had registered as ... different.

 _There_. Right in the middle of the pile, a tiny flattened silver-grey cylinder, about the size of a very small button. The final remains of the first Gustav. Lifting it delicately up to the light, I rolled it carefully between my fingertips, focusing hard. There was a diminutive image on one side and some writing on the other. Taking the thing with me to my office, I used a magnifying glass to get the details. The image was that of an Alaskan bear, rearing up on its hind legs. The writing on the other side read simply 'Steiff'. But something felt off and I searched for whatever it was that might produce such a notion. The Steiff brand had been inaugurated by Margarete Steiff towards the end of the Victorian era. Her favourite soft toy had been an elephant and she'd begun the company's fortunes by making and selling lots of them. I looked hard at the picture of the bear. The flattened cylinder I held was the button traditionally fastened into the right ear of every Steiff toy to indicate authenticity, but those buttons always carried a picture of an elephant, not a _bear_. As I stared at the image, I realised it wasn't the picture of an Alaskan bear, but of a _Russian_ one. What was a Russian bear doing on a Steiff button? It was now crystal clear that whatever Anna Graf brought back from her ice-hockey jaunts, it wasn't simply gifts for her daughter. I was certain the silver button had rather less to do with Steiff and rather more to do with Russian interests in the newly assimilated Eastern bloc. Tempted as I was to try and open the thing, there were people in my department far better skilled for such a job. Picking up my phone, I instigated two quite brief conversations and called for my car. Packing a bag with sufficient items to keep Dieter happy, I was about to head downstairs when I remembered a final essential. A few steps took me back to the settee where a placid Gustav waited.

###

It was much later in the day before I managed to get to the modern red brick-and-glass building of the Evelina Children's Hospital at St Thomas's. I had ensured Ilse was admitted to a private room, which was as much for security purposes as it was for the benefit of her health. Two of my department's security people were stationed outside: obvious in an unobtrusive sort of way. The room was pleasant enough though without much of a view, unless one was excited by London's historical architecture. However, it was safe and secure and in every way the best place the child could be for the moment. Ilse looked very small and frail as she lay in the bed surrounded by softly beeping machines. She seemed to be asleep. Dieter was sprawled in one of the two large upholstered armchairs in the room. He too appeared to be asleep, though he stirred and blinked himself alert as I closed the door behind me.

"Mycroft?" he rubbed both hands roughly over his face as if that might speed the waking process. Turning, I opened the door and asked one of the guards if they'd be able to organise some decent coffee for us. I re-entered the room and peeled off my coat as quietly as I might, unwilling to disturb the somnolent child.

"She will not be awake for some while," Dieter spoke in normal tones at normal volume. I felt my eyebrows rise.

"Why not?"

"She was fighting the breathing apparatus," Dieter sighed. "They had to give her something so that she can sleep a little and so that she would not be so frightened," he shook his head. "This is not a good situation for us."

"My department is taking care of all the medical expenses," I assured him. "And your work will not be adversely affected if you need to be here with your daughter for a few days."

"It is not so much the money," he shook his head again as there was a soft knock at the door as coffee arrived. The mugs were large, hot and quite obviously freshly brewed and smelled good in this place of sterility and antiseptics. I handed Dieter one of the coffees and was about to sit when I remembered one other thing I needed to do first. Taking Gustav by a paw, I went to lay it on the bed beside Ilse but realised the toy would fall. It was the work of a moment to lift up one of Ilse's hands and tuck the bear beneath it. That way, they'd both feel secure.

"You have children of your own, Herr Holmes?" Dieter warmed his hands around the hot mug. I shook my head and half-smiled at the ludicrous question.

"I am not very good with them," I said, sipping my own coffee.

"With children?" Dieter looked curious.

"With the vulnerable."

"Children are more hardy than you think," the big German smiled pragmatically. "My Ilse has been unwell since she was born but she is very hard-wearing." I cast my gaze towards the sleeping child. She did not look terribly robust to me.

"I am not the right kind of person for children," I said, my eyes drawn yet again to the tubes and drips and machines. My internal rage rose a little but was pacified by the knowledge that Ilse was in far better hands than mine. Graf said nothing and sipped his coffee. I decided there was little point keeping his dead wife's secret past a secret any longer. Digging out a letter from my jacket pocket, I handed it to him.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I would not have told you this way if it wasn't vitally important for you to know." Dieter looked at me confused as he accepted the letter and read it slowly.

It was a copy of an old communiqué from an MI6 asset working out of East Berlin near the end of the cold war. The asset had posed as a go-between for Soviet agents, a kind of trusted messenger. One of the messages, the one Dieter was reading, told of several meetings and arrangements made by Anna Graf during one of her ice-hockey trips. It was fairly damning stuff but I had no time for arguments or gentler forms of disclosure. I needed Dieter Graf's full compliance and I needed it now. After the third read-through, he raised his eyes to my face. I had been completely honest with him; I was not very good with the vulnerable.

"This is truth?" his voice was dry and faintly hoarse.

"It is," I nodded. "The search of your flat and the attempt to kill you tell me these people believe you have something they had entrusted to your wife, and they very much want it back."

"But we have all looked," he opened his palms wide. "There is nothing." I had decided not to tell him about the fake Steiff button. It would, I thought, be unnecessarily cruel for him to know his wife had even used their ill child in her nefarious affairs.

"These people think there is and I want to catch them while you are still here in London so that _my_ people are able to protect you and Ilse," I said. "After the search and the attempt to remove you in order to protect this secret, there is only one thing they will try and do now, and that will involve your abduction."

"Abduction?" Dieter's eyes grew wide. For all his physical power, he really was a gentle man.

"There will be no kidnapping," I lifted my hand. "But whoever these people are, they will most certainly attempt it and I want to let them try in a place and at a time when I can assure your safety," I finished my coffee. "I want to set a trap and it must be convincing," I added. "I will need your complete co-operation." As Graf glanced towards the bed, I knew precisely what was on his mind.

"It will be completely safe for both you and Ilse," I promised. "London is my town." Inhaling hard and puffing the air out, Dieter nodded.

"What do you want me to do?"

As I explained my plan in greater detail, Graf nodded.

"And Ilse will be guarded?" he asked, his eyes flicking towards the soft, unending hiss of the ventilator.

"Ilse will be perfectly safe," I meet his gaze. "My life on it." That appeared to satisfy him and he sat back in his armchair.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

###

The following day was dry and slightly overcast. I had had some new clothes brought in for Dieter. Ilse was still asleep, though she seemed increasingly restless. The cardiologist advised me her condition had improved somewhat as the additional oxygen did its job, but what she really needed was a transplant. He shrugged. There was only so much that could be done for a damaged heart. Inside my pocket, my hand clenched slowly into a fist though I made no comment. Anger, on anyone's part, would do the child little good.

Dieter was wearing the new coat I had brought for him, a longish khaki overcoat with a deep hood. Once the hood was up, it was near impossible to see his face but at least it would keep him warm. It was time for a trial run and we both headed downstairs to the hospital foyer.

Given such close attention had been paid to the Graf's whereabouts, first at their flat and then at mine, it was obvious that Dieter was being carefully watched. The people seeking the fake Steiff button would know by now that Ilse was here at the hospital and her father was by her side. They would also probably know my face by now as I had been with the Grafs in public on several occasions, therefore it would not be out of the way for Dieter and I to appear together outside the hospital. And this, in effect, was the plan.

Clad in the hooded coat, though with the hood down, Dieter and I exited the hospital building and loitered casually in the open forecourt, buying coffees and generally taking the air. We talked for several minutes before Graf headed back to the entrance.

"See you later," he called, waving once as he re-entered the building.

"See you at three," I waved back and went on my way.

At approximately five minutes to three, one of the larger Jaguars returned me to the hospital where I emerged carrying a plastic grocery bag through which the contents of grapes and bottles of lemonade could clearly be seen. I entered the building and went up to Ilse's room. Several minutes later, Dieter and I descended, making our way out to the car. Our conversation wasn't overly loud but anyone close by would have heard me apologising for bringing the wrong kind of lemonade. Once we were in the car, it pulled slowly away, heading towards a supermarket in Lambeth where, quite fortuitously, there seemed to be a lot of parking space; handy for such a large vehicle. There couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen cars in the entire carpark.

Dieter emerged from the Jaguar with the hood of his coat up now as the afternoon was becoming chilly though I remained in the Jaguar. Graf walked swiftly towards the supermarket entrance, seemingly undeterred by the sound of a highly-revving car engine entering the half-empty carpark at speed. This had been my only concern; that the people after Dieter might consider him better dead than captured, though I dismissed this notion almost immediately. The chance to grab the German alive and talking far outweighed his value dead. An inconspicuous Ford Estate swung around in a tight circle, screeching to a halt beside Dieter who had paused by the supermarket entrance as if confused and startled. Both front doors of the Ford were flung open and two men with rather large guns, shouted at him to get in the car. Raising his hands slowly, Dieter appeared frozen to the spot.

So intent were the two men on securing their prize, they seemed not to notice that the doors of several of the parked cars had also opened and a number of gentlemen in dark suits bearing even larger guns were even now approaching with openly cheerful expressions. The two men with very powerful rifles who suddenly appeared on the roof of the supermarket finally managed to catch everyone's attention, especially as Dieter's would-be abductors were very clearly in the cross-hairs of said rifles.

The operation was a complete success and I exited the Jaguar. The real Dieter came with me, though there was no need for him to leave the car. Apparently, he wanted to take a look at the captured mens' faces in case he knew them. The man who had acted as Dieter's decoy dropped the hood of the coat so he could see around. He nodded as I approached.

"This is a good coat, Mr Holmes," he grinned. "Can't see a damn thing with the hood up, though."

"Keep it," I said, wondering how our department used such a huge man. I certainly hadn't seen him in the office. Looking between him and the real Dieter Graf, I might have been arranging an illicit boxing match for all anyone might guess. Together, the two men were enormous.

"This one I know," Dieter pointed to an unpleasantly rat-faced individual currently being handcuffed. "He is transportation manager for hockey team."

"Probably not," I said, patting Graf on the shoulder. "Though it was a reasonable cover, I grant you."

"He was responsible for hurting my Ilse?" I heard the note of suppressed fury a fraction too late as Dieter's large and muscular hand closed swiftly around Ratface's throat. He squeezed and everyone froze. Only slightly more pressure and the man's neck would snap; I almost wanted it to happen. Part of me wished the idea had been my own.

"Dieter," I spoke quietly. "There is no need for this."

"There is very _large_ need," he growled, glaring at the purpling face of the man struggling in his tightened grasp.

"It will do Ilse no good if you are in gaol for killing a man on British soil," I offered apologetically. "Put him down and we can go back to the hospital."

I could almost feel the enraged vibrations of the big man as he stood utterly still with only the white-knuckled tension of his hand as clue to his internal ferocity.

"Enough," I said, laying fingertips on Dieter's wrist. "You are above this." I murmured the words, hoping Graf was indeed above killing, for I was not. If Dieter throttled the man accidentally or otherwise, I would move heaven and earth to see him go scot-free. He had a father's right of retribution and I could hardly fault him for doing something I very much wanted to do myself. With a great shuddering sigh, Dieter allowed his victim to collapse bonelessly to the cold tarmac. Without a backwards look, the big German walked steadily towards the Jaguar and back to his Ilse.

###

After that, it was really only a matter of tidying up loose ends and signing the endless reports. The contents of the fake Steiff button proved to be a very useful list of names and contact details of agents in Germany still connected to Russia's declining power. People who enjoyed power were rarely happy to give it up without a fight. The list of names would be extraordinarily helpful in rounding up a number of people in positions to make the new unification of Germany a troubled creation. I explained all this to Dieter and, while he was still shaken by his dead wife's duplicity, he would at least be able to put the incident behind him to a certain extent. His determination to do his new job to the very best of his ability made me realise both he and Ilse might genuinely do better in London than back in Berlin.

"Nein, _danke_ ," he grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. "Our home is in Germany," he looked fondly at his daughter as she sat, cuddling Gustav as they waited for the car to the airport. "It is a great place and you must come over and be with us for next Christmas," he nodded enthusiastically. "Ilse and I will show you a proper _Weihnachten_."

Ilse looked up at me and smiled her sweet little smile and I knew, despite myself, that I would probably end up travelling to Berlin next Christmas. I had no real idea why, except that Ilse wanted me to come. I promised I would find her a new friend for Gustav.

I had also made a number of discreet enquiries at the Charité Universitätsmedizin in Berlin, a hospital made famous by its research and pioneering medical techniques. If there was anything I might do to facilitate a heart-transplant for Ilse, I felt bound to do so, though I had no clear understanding why I was so determined to do this. Let's just say the child had somehow managed to wriggle beneath my newly acquired armour plating and I would do whatever I could for her. It wouldn't be enough but it would be something.

Sir David's return from his sojourn at the Scottish castle was so uneventful as to be almost an anti-climax. It was difficult to keep a straight face, watching as he walked around the office and pored through the modest pile of papers waiting for his return. I wasn't entirely certain if he was relieved or disappointed, but he smiled as I related the story of Gustav and Ilse and the fake Steiff button. Apparently, I had passed another of his tests. I was indeed learning the ropes and it made me rather pleased with myself.

###

The brief letter from Dieter Graf arrived in early March. He had been contacted about a transplant for Ilse and he was already going through the paperwork. It would take a little while to work through, but he was thrilled that she might have a better future ahead. I was honestly delighted and wrote back offering my every assistance.

###

The second letter from Dieter was even briefer. Ilse had not survived to make the transplant; her small body giving up its spark of vitality a week before the operation had been scheduled. There was nothing anyone could have done. It was one of those things. Graf thanked me for all my help and for all the care I had shown his little girl. I burned the letter.

###

"Everything alright, Mycroft?" Bonneville cast a thoughtful glance in my direction. "Bit quiet this week? Problems?"

"No problems," I assured him, laying out several papers for his signature. After all, there was only so much that could be done for a damaged heart, no matter whose it was.


End file.
